Advice from a Homicidal Droid
by khrma
Summary: [Updated!] Examples why HK47 is not a life coach. Share his confusion about his companion's strange actions.
1. The Cantina Incident

The Cantina Incident 

_A/N: It should be noted this is a fanfiction of a Star Wars game. I am trying to make it sound like the hitch hikers guide, but I doubt I did. It attempts to take a rather humorous tone, but I doubt it will be funny.  
_

_Anyways, I wrote this a few months ago. I wanted all my writer friends to be able to laugh at how I haven't improved. At all. I tend to jump keys I type so quickly/inefficiently, so I apologize in advance for errors. I am the bane of quality control everywhere. Enjoy anyways._

_X---X--X _

Hyperspace knows little limitations of time. The only notice that time still exists is the chronological meter next to the navi-computer and that CD player with that Bith artist in it. Still, lest one live in space, they will grow tired and fall asleep according to some planet's daily time cycle. However, if that someone happens to be a droid, sleep is, as they say, is "unneeded and an inefficient way to recharge."

One such droid, an assassin droid known as HK-47 roamed the empty compartments of the freighter _Ebon Hawk_. He was a sophisticated droid, knowing almost one thousand languages and had the finest assassin protocols. HK-47 was humanoid shaped colored of rust and had menacing glowing red sensors were his eyes would be.

Despite all of these amazing devices and knowledge he had, his most awe-inspiring feature was his vast knowledge of the universe. When HK-47 was made, his creator thought it would be a good idea to give an assassin droid knowledge of a good deal of the universe. However, through a humorous twist of fate, this made the droid amazingly cynical. One such example follows,

_On the dusty planet of Tatoonie, in the small city of Achorhead, a lone alien sat in a booth in a rundown cantina. This certain alien species tended to become easily depressed. He sat, staring down at his table, not noticing the party that entered._

"_Okay, HK," a male human whom had entered the cantina said to HK-47. "I need you to discreetly find that Czerka employee. The administrator says she is in here somewhere."_

_The droid turned to the male. "Acknowledgment: Of course master! It should not be difficult to locate such a woman!" HK-47 then raised his blaster rifle. "Intimidation: Alright meatbags," he said in an elevated voice. "I demand the female meatbag Czerka employee. Resistance or failure to comply will result in fatal injury."_

_The once calm cantina froze. Patrons sat or stood in fear or just a stupor of what the droid was going to do._

_The male next to HK-47 buried his face into the palm of his hand. "Do you know what 'discreet' means?" He asked._

"_Statement: Master, I am in the middle of an interrogation! Please reference your Galactic Basic handbook! It is as the Naboo human meatbags say: 'Must I always walk you through such trivial matters?"_

_The human stared back at HK-47, shocked about what the droid had just said to him. "Do you see the irony in that? You do know what irony mea— Never mind. Just put the rifle down. Canderous is stealthier than you. Maybe I should have brought him."_

_The droid gave a shocked gasp. "Offended reply: Master! Comparing me to that—that Mandolorian! I am deeply hurt." The assassin droid lowered its blaster rifle nonetheless. "Irritated declaration: Very well master. I shall comply."_

_The male known as 'Master' gave an uneasy smile. "There, there. That wasn't to hard now was it?" He looked around the cantina. "Sorry everyone! Please go back to your drinks. Apologize you pile of junk!" He said, elbowing HK._

_The droid looked at the human. "Very well master. Apology: I am sorry meatbags. Next time I will shoot instead of threaten." To this, the human gently shook his head and mumbled, "I need a drink." Embarrassed beyond belief, the human made his way to the bar._

_HK-47 watched as his master sat at the bar_. Master is unhappy with me,_ the droid thought._ I know! I will make it up to him by helping one of these meatbags!

_HK scanned the cantina looking for the most depressed life-form. Aside from his master, an alien in the corner of the bar, sitting in a booth caught his attention. HK then made his way towards the pitiful sentient. Upon his arrival, the alien took immediate attention._

"_Come to insult me like the others?" the alien asked in a low, somber tone._

"_Surprised reply: Of course not you hideous life form you! I have come to cheer up the most depressed meatbag to show my master how discreet I am. All I need are answers in return of my service." The droid leveled his rile at the head of the alien. "Refusal of my services is ill-advised."_

_The alien gasped, then searched his head for a question, any question, before his head disappeared._

"_What is love?" the alien hastily blurted out._

"_Love?" The droid asked._

Love, noun, a passionate attraction and desire. _The droid thought_. I have experienced this feeling before. Oh joy!

_The droid was overjoyed. If he were a meatbag he would be grinning ear to ear. "Cheerful statement: Love is finally lining up your designated target in your rifle scope, after chasing it across the galaxy for weeks. You then level your aim from over fifty meters and then," the droid mimicked his words using his blaster rifle. "You finally pull the trigger."_

_The droid awaited the aliens answer. "I finally understand." The alien said. "Thank you droid, I now know what must be done."_

As it turned out, the alien whom HK-47 had given advice to was trying to confess his love for a certain female. He followed the droids exact words to the letter. Now local authorities are looking for a red droid with a mocking tone in connection to the murder.

This is what happens when you turn to an assassin droid who isn't firing on all thrusters for advice.


	2. Revan Hates Hutts, HK Is Amused

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or any of the characters appearing in this fiction. Well, maybe I do, but I don't want credit for them. O.o

Author's Note: I would like to thank everyone who reviewed the previous installment of this fiction. That and motivation from my supportive girlfriend have given me the drive to keep writing. I hope this chapter is more enjoyable than the first. Happy reading.

X—x—X

_Hutts_, HK-47 assessed, _are slimy slug like creatures adept at business and the art of swindling. However, lack of mannerism made one query as to why the race existed. The smell is offensive to my receptors as well and I am overjoyed my functionality allows me to shut them down._

Of course, not everyone in the small, yet lavishly decorated chambers Motta the Hutt shared HK-47's calm and sensible views.

"You sack of Wookiee dung, give me my cut!" Revan yelled, attempting to coerce the credits from the stingy Hutt.

_Entertained Reaction: Master can not turn off his scent receptors obviously. Oh, the poor meatbag._

"I mean it!" Revan yelled, a swift back hand driving into the Hutt's bloated face.

_Master _has_ been under a great deal of stress. Discovering he was once the Dark Lord of the Sith took it's toll on him. He had such potential. Master should simply fry the meatbag slug and claim right to his fortune and assets. It's a shame really._

Motta spat out Huttese at Revan, the language broken and trembling with fear. This made translation a fraction more difficult for HK, however, he was HK-47 after all and the translation was completed in a cycle if his circuits.

"Translation: Master, the Hutt wishes— "

Revan had somehow managed to find enough leverage to stand on the Hutt's bloated form, but quickly whirled around upon hearing the droid speak.

"I know what he said! Shut it and let me negotiate!" the human yelled in frenzied anger.

The negotiations lasted another good half an hour until Revan finally received proper payment. Both HK and Revan took their leave of the Tatooine swoop bike racetrack, credits in hand. HK-47 was about to commend Revan for his actions, he was of course proud of his master. However, a small human girl approached Revan, a look of sadness on her face.

"Sir," she fearfully asked, "my mother has been taken by slavers and we need money to free her! Can you spare a few credits?"

Revan cheerfully smiled and held the credits he had forced from Motta the Hutt to the girl, "Go ahead, take them all. You must get off this planet, it is hazardous."

The girl smiled and gladly took the credits and after saying her thanks, ran off to wherever she had come from.

"Irritated deceleration: Master! Giving those credits away was a waste of money! The girl should simply have killed the traders and freed her meatbag parental. Disappointed confession: I had so much hope in your renewed anger, Master. You meatbags make my CPU ache with confusion."

End.


End file.
